


Cellophane

by etherealApostate



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Mental Illness, PTSD, fighting the system au, hot topic AU, psychotic affects, will prob add more ships/characters as i keep writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherealApostate/pseuds/etherealApostate
Summary: Saruhiko’s hit rock bottom. Expelled from college, newly orphaned, broke, and (worst of all) working at a Hot Topic in the middle of fuckall nowhere. In his eyes, Yata Misaki is just another rock bottom accessory: a loitering high school dropout. But when the comfortable solidity of rock bottom drops out from beneath both of them, they’re forced to cling together to what remains….Archive warnings not yet applicable. No promises that this will remain so.





	1. Chapter 1

_Blink. Flash. Blink --_ and _hiccup._ _Blink_ , and a tiny seizure. 

 

Saru bit his lip in annoyance. The withdrawal was worse than he wanted to admit to himself. 

 

_ I tooooold you, Monkey, Big Pharma is gonna suck you hard! _

 

_ Ugh,  _ Saru thought.  _ Shut up. _ He glanced at the clock on the register screen. 2:05 flashed over to 2:06 PM. One minute closer to quitting time. (One minute closer to another sleepless night.) 

 

Sleeplessness was a victory, Saru reminded himself, his brain shocking a little again as he moved his eyes to the entrance. No customers. Sleeplessness meant that he would only hear Niki’s voice -- only feel the occasional brush of his recently dead father’s words. And that was far, far better than what dreams could bring. 

 

It was a Monday -- at least, it probably was -- and the Hot Topic where Saru had recently and unfortunately found himself employed was customarily deserted. In fact, the whole mall (all twelve pathetic shops of it) rarely saw much traffic outside of holidays or the occasional school trip. 

 

Out of restless habit, Saru dug down to the small pillbox in his jacket pocket -- no harm in rattling it again -- empty again -- no more pills. 

 

Saru stared into the distance, wishing he could sit down, not really feeling his legs. Staring was the best way to avoid the tiny seizures that marked his lack of medication. 

 

Time passed, and from his periphery, Saru saw someone enter the store. Short. A kid? 

 

“Welcome to Hot Topic,” he said, not moving his eyes. His voice was flat. 

 

“Thanks!” came the rare response. The voice sounded incongruently sharp and, well, post-pubescent, and Saru’s eyes were drawn reluctantly to the figure who had now stepped over to browse a rack of hanging shirts. 

 

The tiny light that flashed in his eyes from the movement-seizure was cleared almost instantly, and Saru found himself looking at a short boy, maybe Saru’s own age. He was wearing what Saru called  _ delinquent clothes _ \-- in this case, baggy long shorts, a stained white sweatshirt, and a beanie pulled low that didn’t quite stop a few locks of longish copper hair from blossoming around its edges. 

 

_ Ugh _ , Saru thought, and made the crucial mistake of not averting his gaze quickly enough as the boy looked up. Wide, hazel eyes caught Saru’s for a split second. 

 

The boy seemed to take this as an invitation for conversation. “Not busy today, huh?” he asked, and Saru was again rather surprised at how the voice of someone so short could carry so well. 

 

The corner of Saru’s mouth twitched in disdain. “Evidently.”  _ What an idiot. Do I  _ look _ like I want to talk? _

 

The boy chuckled, making his way over to the counter, where he leaned on one elbow and began toying with the little skull-shaped cans of nail polish. “Yeah, I figured. I used to work here for a while. I’m at Amazon now. It’s harder but it pays really well….” 

 

_ Of course, he would think that thirteen dollars an hour is  _ amazing  _ pay!  _ Saru made a non-commital grunt.

 

“Anyway, is the manager in?” the boy asked, and Saru could tell he was trying to make eye contact. 

 

Saru kept his eyes glued to the nail polish. “In the back.”  _ Sleeping, probably, like a lazy moron. Then again, can I really blame him for sleeping on  _ this _ job? _ “What do you need him for?” 

 

The boy shrugged. “Just wanted to say hi!” Something in the back of his voice made Saru doubt that this was one hundred percent true. “If he’s up later, can you tell him Yata came by to visit?” 

 

If it wouldn’t have caused another mini-seizure, Saru would have rolled his eyes. “Sure.” God, now he was getting a  _ real _ headache. 

 

“I’ve gotta run,” Yata said. “I’ll probably drop by tomorrow though! I like what you’ve done with the place.” He gave Saru a half-grin. 

 

Saru was beginning to feel very dizzy. 

 

The next thing he felt was the impact of counter against skull. 


	2. Chapter 2

_“Come on, little monkey, don’t you want to see what happens?” Bling bling bling, light on the swinging necklace._

 

_Saru couldn’t speak. There was a burning, acid feeling in his chest and limbs._

 

_“What happens--” and Niki’s voice slowed to a malicious pace -- “when you run away, is that you don’t have a bed to sleep in.” The lighter flicked._

 

_Saru was trying to run now, but the walls were very close. The bedclothes in front of him burst into flames -- the smell was nauseous, and smoke was beginning to get in his eyes._

 

_“You have to sleep outside,” Niki said. Bling bling bling, the firelight on his smiling teeth right above Saru’s face._

 

_“Go get the fire extinguisher, little monkey.” It was right in front of them. Saru reached, and couldn’t grasp it, his fumbling fingers didn’t seem to work properly --_

 

“No!” Saru yelled, and his eyes snapped open. Reeling, it took him a moment to take in the walls of the storage room properly, and then he found himself looking into his boss’ eyes. The now-familiar smell of cigarette smoke greeted him.

 

“..Fuck,” Saru muttered, reaching up mechanically to adjust the glasses that sat lopsided on his face. “What are you looking at,” he said, half to himself.

 

“You passed out,” Mikoto informed him.

 

“Yeah, well, obviously!” Saru stood up, a little shakily. “How long have I been out?”

 

Mikoto shrugged and got to his feet as well. “Couple hours. Don’t worry. Wasn’t busy.”

 

Inside, Saru was somewhere between screaming and laughing at his boss’ inane remark. _Tell me more!_ He wanted to say, but instead chose a cutting silence.

 

“You should go home,” Mikoto added, not breaking gaze.

 

Saru wanted to argue, but the acute lightheadedness that was returning to him prevented that. “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He cut his gaze and reached for the doorknob. _Ugh_. Body-shocks were still there.

 

“Yata was real worried,” Mikoto called as Saru stepped into the main store. Caught off-guard, Saru looked back, and could have sworn he caught the ghost of a smile under his boss’ lips.

 

... _Whatever._ Saru had more pressing issues to worry about now. Like getting home. And his empty stomach. He closed the door behind him.

 

In the central mall, the food court -- all two kiosks of it -- nearly made Saru stop in his tracks. The smell of food was… too much. When was the last time he had eaten?

 

Not sure. _Keep going._

 

\--

 

The main reason that Saru had actually accepted a job at a _fucking Hot Topic_ was because it was within walking distance of his house. He was stumbling by the time he reached the McMansion desert of subdivision where he was currently living -- squatting really. It didn’t feel like living much at all. He nearly tripped face-first over the curb in front of Niki’s old house, and had to steady himself for a moment on the cheery “For Sale” sign in front of him.

 

This house was his father’s final insult to him. It had been as if Niki had known his own date of death. Well, no one would have expected the cocaine to leave him _too_ many more breaths. In the span of a year, he had moved from his million-dollar townhouse into… _this_ travesty, Saru couldn’t even call it architecture, just _look_ at those fucking fake columns -- and he had given all his remaining money ever so kindly to charities. And now, six months after that, Saru was left with a pittance of inheritance and a fake, cavernous home that reeked sickly with funeral flowers.

 

The beige floral-pattern couch sank softly down as Saru dropped onto it.

 

 _Food,_ Saru thought. In a moment he wrested himself from the scratchy cushions and made it into the kitchen. He grabbed a box of Frosted Flakes and sunk down, back against the cabinet, ass on the fake-wood flooring, shoving fistful after listless fistful into his mouth. His stomach was full sooner than he was -- he knew it had shrunk, he supposed -- and he was left staring in plastic-feeling silence at the waxy petals of a wilting peace lily. It was one of the few plants that had survived Saru’s purposeful ignorance of its needs.

 

 _Fucking flowers,_ he thought. And then the other voice entered his mind.

 

_Isn’t it time you made peace, monkey-boy? Hmm?_

 

“SHUT UP!” Saru screamed, banging his skull back against the cabinet, trying to force the whisper out of his ears.

 

It wouldn’t leave. _This can’t go on for much longer. Little Saru wasn’t built to be a strong boy…. I knew that from the start…._


	3. Chapter 3

Enter Thursday. Enter Saru, back behind the counter. Day twelve of work, day twelve of withdrawals. Day one since passing out last.

 

Saru had started bringing his laptop to work. It wasn’t as good as his desktop rig, but at least he could get _something_ done, besides glaring at shoplifters and getting secondhand smoke from his manager.

 

Someone entered the shop -- Saru’s head jerked up reflexively, wishing he had a solid wall behind his back -- oh. That Yata guy.

 

“Welcome to Hot Topic,” he droned, returning his gaze to the keyboard. _Are you here to actually buy something or just to annoy Mikoto with your stupid crush?_

 

“Yo!” Yata replied, striding to the counter with what Saru felt was totally unnecessary confidence. Something about it ground a nerve in him, but, what didn’t do that these days?

 

“Is Mikoto --”

 

“No.” Saru cut him off. “He’s out for lunch. For the past two hours.” _Lunch and a fucking siesta, probably_ . “ _Can I help you._ ”

 

Yata frowned. “Hey, I’m just asking…. If you don’t have anything better to do, I’ll wait here, I guess.”

 

Saru felt his mouth twitch involuntarily. “Fine, just don’t mess up any of the displays.”

 

Yata apparently took that as invitation to get behind the counter. Saru recoiled slightly, as if a wild animal had suddenly walked into his area of personal space.

 

“You from around here? I feel like I’ve seen you before….”

 

Fushimi remained silent, and resumed stoically typing.

 

“I’m glad you’re OK after what happened the other day, I thought you were fucking dead. Oh -- I know where I saw you, that’s right! You were in the paper! One of those guys up in the Anthem subdivision died…. You’re like his brother right?”

 

Saru froze for a moment, then kept typing. “Mind your own business,” he muttered.

 

Yata leaned away. “Jeez. Fine. I do work for the paper sometimes, it’s not my fault I saw the obit.”

 

A moment of blessed, blessed silence.

 

“Anyway, I’m sorry he died. It’s always tough.”

 

And then the silence was icy -- and then it was broken by the sound of Saru slamming his laptop shut. Seizures be damned, he turned his head to look directly into Yata’s feckless fucking hazel eyes, and hissed, “Look, moron. You have no fucking idea. You have no fucking idea what it’s like to lose someone like _that_ ” -- he spat the word out -- “and you have no idea how _fucking sick_ I am of hearing people’s fake-understanding _bullshit_!”

 

In the brief after-rush of spite, Saru savored the look of surprise on Yata’s _dumb fucking face_. And in the next moment, the feeling was gone. Saru sighed deeply and put his head in his hands. “Mikoto probably won’t even be back today. It’s best if you just leave.”

 

“So, he was your dad, then. Mine was a piece of shit, too.” Yata’s voice was surprisingly calm, even if there was some edge to it, and it was Saru’s turn to feel surprised. Somewhere, anyway, underneath all the layers of dulled emotion. He kept his head in his hands. He just wanted to ignore this guy until he was alone again.

 

Yata continued. “I guess you’re stuck in Anthem. Place is probably falling apart.” A pause. “If I know those fucking waste-of-money houses anyway…. If you need help around the house, let me know? I do a lot of odd jobs and shit.” Saru jumped, then realized that the hand slipping something into his pocket was real, and not his mind playing tricks again. He shuddered at the touch.

 

“Give me a ring,” Yata said. Saru was again surprised to find sympathy, not pity, in his voice. Saru shook his head slightly. When he looked up again, Yata was gone, and Saru  was left alone with the stomach-churning chords of early 2000s punk music.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Two days later, at nine in the morning, an unslept Saru was digging resentfully through a large bag of garbage. Finally, he found what he was looking for -- a ketchup-stained piece of paper with a phone number written on it in blocky handwriting.

 

“Fuck,” Saru muttered, and wiped his free hand on his pants, hoping the ketchup stains would blend in with the black denim. He pulled his phone from his back pocket, stood up (ignoring the head rush) and dialed the number.

 

“Hello?” Yata’s voice came crackling over the line.

 

“Hello, it’s Saruhiko. My AC crapped out. Can you --”

 

“Sure. What house?”

 

“Three-thirteen Emeritus Drive. When will you be here?” Saruhiko wiped some sweat off his brow, trying not to let an edge of worry creep into his voice.

 

“Uh--” there was a loud crash in the background, then the sound of a child crying. “Uh -- hold on -- ARE YOU OK??”

 

Saru winced. More background noise, and crying.

 

“Jesus -- OK -- can you get him a bandaid? OK -- sorry, Saru. Uh, I’ll be there in like an hour, I’ve gotta drop my siblings at church.” The line clicked dead.

 

Saru frowned. Yata hardly struck him as the devout type. Or the familial type, at that. Oh, well. Hopefully he could get the AC fixed before the temperature split a hundred again today.

 

Twenty minutes later, Yata’s car pulled into the driveway. It made noises like a beatboxer with bronchitis as it wound down to park. Saru opened the door, leaning on the frame a little, and watched as Yata gave the house a glancing frown while coming up the walkway. He carried a cheap black bag -- probably tools. A glaze of heat was already beginning to silhouette the dinged grey edges of Yata’s car.

 

“Sorry to call on short notice,” Saru said stiffly, reaching up to resettle his glasses as he closed the door behind them. They slid back down immediately to an uncomfortable angle, courtesy of his own sweat.

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Besides, you’re liable to get heat stroke out here without any AC….” Yata glanced around the living room. “Yeesh. Smells like funeral home. Want me to help you dump those in the backyard right quick?” He waved a hand at the limp potted plants and withered floral sprays that hung in the corners of the room.

 

“Uh. Yeah, sure….”

 

“Dope. I’d say burn ‘em, but we’d probably set a wildfire.”

 

“That would be an act of mercy to most of these houses,” Saru said without thinking. Yata snorted and grabbed a bouquet of what used to be carnations, then looked around questioningly.

 

“Oh. Back door’s this way.” Saru started through to the kitchen, feeling Yata’s eyes behind him. To his surprise, he found that it was less a feeling of particular paranoia and more a feeling of sheer newness at having someone in the place where he now lived. At his old room in school, no one had ever visited, and Saru had liked that. Here, he wasn’t sure what to do with someone.

 

At least Yata wasn’t here to stand around and pretend to be sad about some acquaintance’s death. Saru pushed open the back door, and held the sprung storm door open as Yata stepped through to chuck the dead flowers into the bushes and set the plastic vase down on the patio.

 

“And the AC’s right there,” Saru added abruptly, pointing over the side of the patio towards the still grey unit.

 

Yata nodded. “Stopped working today?”

 

Saru shrugged. “It was dead when I woke up.” That had happened much later than he would like to admit. “Didn’t notice anything before then.”

 

“Roger that.” Yata jumped down towards the AC unit and dropped his toolkit-bag beside it. “Gimme a few, yeah?” he called, not looking back. “I’ll be inside in a minute and let you know what’s up.”

 

Saru nodded, glad to get out of the sun. His head was beginning to throb. Inside, he took a seat at the kitchen table and began booting up his desktop. As it loaded, he grabbed a glass to fill with water. His free hand again went automatically to his pocket, only to find his empty pillbox gone.

 

A few minutes later, the back door opened again. Yata stepped in. He had tied his dingy white sweatshirt around his waist, leaving him in a black tank top ( _black? Really? In the sun? Dumbass)._ Saru could almost see the sheen of sunheat radiating from Yata’s bare arms and face.

 

“You’re fucked, man. Condenser coil’s busted, looks like a rat or something got in there.

 

“Can you fix the unit or not?” Saru asked -- there was more of a testy edge in his voice than he meant, really. _Whatever, blame it on the headache._

 

Yata pulled up the dangling sleeve of his sweatshirt and started stretching it awkwardly to wipe sweat off his neck. “Yeah, I can replace the coil, but it’s gonna be at least five hundred.” He dropped the sweater sleeve.

 

 _Great._ Saru made an irritated noise, and stood up to refill his glass, then paused, trying to think of something he’d forgotten to say. Oh. Yeah.

 

“Want some water?”

 

“Shit, yeah,” Yata agreed. He pulled out another kitchen chair and slouched down in it; Saru set a second glass in front of him and leaned against the counter, sipping his drink. He watched as Yata steadily pulled down the water in the glass.

 

Saru glanced over to the computer. He should probably figure out where the nearest library was. Or somewhere else with air conditioning where he could stay.

 

As if reading Saru’s mind, Yata set the glass down on the table and said, “Hey, if you’re off work, you can hang at mine til I can get a condenser ordered. You’d probably die out here.”

 

Saru shook his head. “Can’t afford it.”

 

“...I shoulda figured. You don’t look like the type who _wants_ to work at a mall.”

 

Saru was thinking of a cutting remark about _looking like certain types oneself_ \-- but before he could open his mouth, Yata continued:

 

“Nah, you definitely look like the smart type. It’s the glasses, huh?” He chuckled, then nodded at the desktop on the table. “You into computers and shit? That looks like an awesome setup.”

 

“Yeah,” Saru said, slightly caught off-guard. “Made it myself.”

 

Yata smiled. “You gotta meet my sis Megami. She’s eleven, she’s hella into coding and shit.” Saru could hear the pride in his voice.

 

Saru squinted slightly. “I don’t like kids.”

 

“That’s fair, I guess. They’re a fucking handful, man.” Yata got up to stand by Saru. _Too close!_ Saru leaned away instinctively, but Yata didn’t seem to notice; he leaned over the sink and gave his glass a rinse before setting it on the counter, beside the small collection of dirty dishes. “Anyway, til you can save up for a condenser, you should probably just go for a window unit. They’re only a couple hundred used.”

 

“...That’s gonna take me a couple weeks,” Saru said, placing his half-empty glass on the counter beside Yata’s. “I’ll just find a library somewhere.”

 

“C’mon, don’t be an idiot! I've got an empty couch, and Mikoto vouches for you, so, good enough for me,” Yata said, half-smiling. Saru wasn’t used to being called an idiot. He did not particularly care for it, and frowned accordingly. “C’mon, Saru. I’ll even feed you if you help Minoru out with his homework. He’s getting too old for me to understand the math.”

 

 _What a fucking surprise. Like I actually want to deal with his brat brother._ Still, the sweat between Saru’s glasses and nose-bridge was a convincing arbiter.

 

“...Fine. Thanks,” he mumbled. Another new feeling -- taking favors. He wasn’t sure if he liked this one either.

 

Yata nodded. “Let’s get the rest of these plants out of here then, and hit the road. Don’t want fucking bugs or something in here, right?”

 

 _Or_   _something._ Saru winced inwardly unsure if the words were his own internal voice or Niki's. He grabbed the peace lily from the corner. 

 

"You sure you don't wanna keep that one? Looks pretty healthy--" Yata met Saru's eyes. "Yeah, nah." 


	5. Chapter 5

It was loud. That was the first thing Saru noticed as he stepped inside the one-floor ranch house where Yata lived. There was a window unit blasting at full power. There was the jagged rhythm of TV dialogue. A dog was barking somewhere, next door maybe, and a couple of young voices carried in from a room or so away. He paused in the doorway behind Yata, letting the noise wash over him and unsure of where to put the box he was carrying.

 

“That can go over here,” Yata said. Saru was beginning to understand where Yata had learned to make his voice ring like that, how it could cut so easily over waves of sound. “On the coffee table. Here, lemme clear it off.” Yata dropped his toolkit by the door and hefted the box containing his desktop out of Saru’s hands. Saru was about to issue a tense warning, _careful!_ \-- but Yata had already set it gently on the couch, and was clearing papers and books off the table.

 

“Sorry for the mess,” he said. “It’s fucking chaos here, not gonna lie.” Yata dumped his armful of miscellany underneath the table, muttering something about _Megami’s got to clean this up pronto._ He straightened, facing Saru. “Get the door before we boil to death! You can set up wherever you want. Lemme grab us some lunch.”

 

“You don’t need to feed --” Saru started, but Yata was already waving his hand dismissively and heading deeper into the house. Saru blinked, and decided against saying anything for now. He closed the front door behind them and followed Yata.

 

The next room in the house was the kitchen. It was tiny, but not cluttered, and not dirty. One side held a sink and stove and refrigerator all crammed closely beneath cabinets. The rest of the small room was taken up by a blue card table with rusted joints, and behind it what appeared to be a very old elementary school desk dominated by an equally old computer. A kid, Saru guessed Megami, was fiddling with the mouse, one of her blue-jeaned legs hiked up on the edge of the desk.

 

 _Figures they wouldn’t have any better posture than he does,_ Saru thought. He pulled out one of the folding chairs and took a seat at the card table as Yata began pulling items out of the fridge.

 

“Megami!” Yata called over his shoulder. It sounded muffled; he was using his teeth to tear open a pack of cheese slices. “Do you want a sandwich?”

 

Megami twisted in her chair. “I ate already. Who’s that?” She was looking at Saru, who wasn’t entirely sure whether he should break her gaze or stare her down.

 

“That’s Saru. His AC’s broken, he’s gonna be chilling here for a bit during the day. And tutoring Minoru --” Yata’s head snapped up, and he nearly dropped the just-completed cheese sandwich he was holding. “ _Fuck,_ where’s Minoru?”

 

“He’s in his room. Probably jerking off.”

 

“Can you _lay off while we have company?_ Jeez.” Yata handed Saru a sandwich and sat down. “Sorry,” he said to Saru.

 

Saru looked at Yata, then at the back of Minoru’s chestnut bob, then back at Yata again. “I don’t really care.” He took a bite of the sandwich; it was about as disappointing as it looked, but as soon as he swallowed he realized he was hungrier than he had felt.

 

“Anyway,” Yata continued, swallowing a bite, “Minoru’s fourteen. He’s doing some kind of algebra -- it’s mostly that that’s the problem. Shit, it was for me too. I can’t pay you tons, but I'll pitch in for that window unit if you can work with him this week.”

 

Saru finished chewing the last crust edge. _Thank god_. “I’ll try. I’m not a miracle worker.”

 

“Nah, nah, you don’t gotta be.” Yata shook his head. “It’s more a question of just getting him to sit down and learn the shit, y’know? He’s fine when I have time to work with him, but that’s fucking never. Plus he’s down at Ruglas, that’s like fifty, sixty kids to a teacher.” He reached out over the table suddenly, and Saru jumped a little, but Yata was only wiping crumbs off the blue foam-padded top. “Anyway, today’s my day off too.”

 

Saru cocked his head. His headache was beginning to feel a bit lessened now that he’d eaten. “They let you work six days a week, with Amazon?”

 

“No way, I do three a week in maintenance there, three a week in distribution for the paper, repairs n’ shit on the side…. You know the drill.”

 

They were quiet for a bit. Megami wandered out of the room, into the hallway.

 

“I don’t mind it,” Yata said, more quietly, “but sometimes I wish I could, you know. Finish school, maybe. Or just... rest.”

 

“College isn’t all it’s made out to be.”

 

“Yeah. I guess.” Yata glanced out the window, drumming his fingers idly on the table. “I need to cut back the bushes. They’re getting tall.” For the second time that week, Saru heard something he hadn’t expected in Yata’s voice: the weight of growing up too fast.

 

“Anyway,” and Yata’s voice returned to its normal tone, “Minoru’s the second door down the hall. Wrangle him out and give me the lowdown by dinner?”

 

Saru nodded. “Sure.”


End file.
